


Of Shadows and Cherry Blossoms

by Igot2peedou



Category: Naruto
Genre: 2019 Shikasaku, Angst Relationship, Bamf Shikamaru Nara, Character Death, F/M, FWB, Kiri!Sakura, Last Shinobi Standing, NSFW, Reconciliation, Sakura has a bone to pick, Shinobi War, au Team 7 separation, bad ass bitch Sakura, bamf sakura haruno, ch3, chapter 2 is PWP, genjutsu Sakura, gots beef with sasuke, it’s involuntary, movie star looking ass Sakura, sad and hopeful ending, sharp teeth, she does not apprentice under Tsunade, she sort of is, she’s a civilian kid and proud, shikamaru does time travel, shikamaru is shook, shikamaru is sick of your shit, shikamaru thinks Sakura is crazy, sort of beef with Naruto, the eye thing, timetravel mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igot2peedou/pseuds/Igot2peedou
Summary: Shikasaku 2019. This is early asf but 🤷🏽. We finna do it anyway. Most of these are one shots that can be potentially expanded on.





	1. rusted ends and twisted beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikasaku 2019. This is early asf but 🤷🏽. We finna do it anyway. Most of these are one shots that can be potentially expanded on.

 

He sobs. Nothing coherent, it’s a watery keening noise that crackles between the two. Shikamaru’s visions wavers, blots like static. The genjutsu fizzles and tears. There’s a moment where he can hardly breathe, anguish and betrayal gets the better of him and he spits it out like a mouthful of glass. “Kai.”

 

“Shikamaru?”

His name is flecked with copper, pained and confused. A grisly hotness grows in his chest and he is so angry. She made him do it she— Sakura’s trembling fingers clench across his and it’s unmistakebly intimate. Warmth drips, binds them together and he can’t choke back his grief any longer. His team is dead, the Allies are decimated, and the rusty end of a blade is protruding from Sakura’s gut. Her eyes are miraculously dry, though her lips quiver as if she can’t maintain a smile or frown, doesn’t want to settle into a grimace of pain. He wonders if it will have a chance to scar like the jagged mess of flesh and discoloration of poison branching out like a gnarled tree that Sasori’s blade left. It won’t scar because thanks to Sakura casting the genjutsu, compelling him: Shikamaru is the reason Sakura is _dying_. 

Even in this state Sakura responds to his emotional upheaval. Her hands squeeze his. It’s  almost comforting until she uses the gesture to draw the weapon further into her abdomen. He sees red, wants to knock her face in, quit it, but a low whine escapes Sakura and she looks downright remorseful. Shikamaru flinches. Inadvertently jerks the metal and widens the wound. He ignores, tries to at least, “Stop.” Death, rotting and heavy on the tongue not her too please, “Sakura.”

“Heal yourself!”

 

The Strength of a Hundred remains firmly untapped, doesn’t rush to aid her immune system. Doesn’t knit the severed flesh back together. Instead Sakura’s failsafe, her pride and joy jutsu, illuminates beneath her skin. spun emerald erupt and rise to the surface of her skin. “No! No—“ she fists his collar, in mercy or selfishness he doesn’t know, bows their heads together as one. 

Shikamaru hates her, hates her so much. How could she do this? It was supposed to be them, they were supposed to together— none of this stops him from swallowing her sob of pain. An iron kiss, and it’s too late. She draws back enough so that their lips hardly touch, “You can fix this.” He sees his eyes reflected in hers. They are wide, teary, and unforgiving.

The air inside his lungs turns acidic. The last thing he processes is beryl rupturing her iris. The color violently spikes out, overtaking the whites of her eyes.

This is not what they agreed to this is not—

 

 

 

 

Vicious and repetitive, memories circle and runs it’s course, like a gag reel from hell. Asuma-sensei, Naruto, Chōji, Ino, Dad, Temari, Kankurō, Killer B, Sai, Kakashi, Hinata, Gaara, Tsunade, Kurenai, Genma, it’s his personal purgatory. Sakura. Shikamaru opens his eyes.

She sent him back. hysterical tears choke him up and he can do nothing but curl into a ball. His body is small, he’s not even genin yet judging by size, and it’s all he can do to keep quiet. Everyone he knows is dead. Shikamaru fervently strives for the eye of the storm, to quit the hiccuping the wrenching anguish squeezing his middle like a crushed can. It doesn’t stop. Everyone everyone is gone! except, except she sent him back to the beginning, they’re here

(Sakura is dead she’s dead, blood stains his palms and her muscles give way to rusty blade  and he’s _killing_ her)

Shikamaru doesn’t understand, why are you making me do this alone? because he can’t do this, not with a rusted blood soaked ending not with his girl using him making him go when they decided she they both would go— how did she ever expect him to fix anything with this twisted beginning?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the rusty end of a blade. Sort of on the short side but hope y’all enjoy anyway. Think of this as the ‘Bad Ending.’ First Draft has no time travel jutsu— just Sakura casting a genjutsu so Shikamaru would schmurder her for reasons (something to do wit O Goddess of Chakra) but ya kNow. Tell me what y’all think.


	2. wake at dusk my summer love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW- ish so be warned.

   

She’s all teeth. 

The curve of her mouth reveal rows of jagged needles and Shikamaru wonders how she manages how to close it. Her eyes are framed by shades, glossy and red tinted— more movie star than shinobi. She sprawls in her booth, legs spread in a way he’s only seen men sit. Unapologetically taking up space. It’s troublesome but no more than the average women. Though it is evident she lacks all the grace a kuniochi of her rank should have, and maybe it’s this that roots him in the bench next to her, uncharacteristically nursing a bottle of sake. 

She slid into his stall without asking, throws back _his_ sake cup, and is well on her way to snatching the bottle. 

What’s left of the seventh legion mills about. They’re inebriated. Distracted as Shinobi at war are wonton to be but he doesn’t delude himself into thinking they won’t remember this tomorrow. Kami knows if he lets her stick around Chōji and Ino will hear of this within a week. Less, if TenTen’s hanging jaw is any indication. Shikamaru can’t help himself. “You aren’t exactly conspicuous Kiri no Wani.” 

The Crocodile of the Mist lifts an eyebrow. “What makes you say that Commander?”

He immediately recognizes it as an invitation of sorts. Lifting the sake bottle to his mouth, Shikamaru hides his involuntary expression of appraisal. The Crocodile follows the movement. The Third War isn’t so far behind them, in different circumstances the predatory tilt of her chin would be fatal. Jerking his own chin at her jumpsuit he clarifies, “Doesn’t blend in.”

The Crocodile laughs, a rich bark that revertibrates through his rib cage. She leans across the table. “Wanna know why I wear red?” He doesn’t respond. Cool wisps of air whisper across the shell of his ear. His insides tighten. “The blood blends in.” 

Which, doesn’t necessarily explain the stripes of white that runs down on the sleeves and pant legs of her jumpsuit. On good days blood, dirt, and muck stain the pristine fabric. Only Ino— with her long hair, and Naruto with his beloved jumpsuit, can rival Kiri no Wani’s flamboyancy. Her uniform is nothing like the standard Kiri fatigues. He’s almost impressed. Shikamaru turns his head minutely until his eyes are level with plush lips curling into a close mouthed smile. She smells of salt and morning dew. His play. “You’re telling me Kiri let you prounce around in that,” he trails off, balancing his chin on his hand. She sits back. 

“They’re not as lenient as you,” she says. 

“Hm?” 

Toying at the zipper of her jumpsuit, she shrugs. He nearly chokes on his spit as he  realizes he _wants_ to know.“Kiri no Wani...?”

“Sakura Haruno.” 

Cherry blossom. In part her coloring is red, red, pink. The color of her hair is the shade of dusk after a long day of cloud watching. This thought coils inside him, reminds him far too much of home. “Sakura Haruno.” He repeats, liking the way her name fits in his mouth. Sakura flicks her zipper, amused. “Nara.”

Without so much as discussing the matter, the two shunshin our the door.

 

She aggressively tosses his jounin vest to the side, tears his shirt off in a practiced move. He nimbly— ok, he falls onto his makeshift bedding. Air seems to shudder through his lungs like liquid and instead of hacking lack a man asphyxiating, he moans. It slips out and he can’t take it back. 

Sakura easily pins his hands above his head, drags her tongue sternum to navel. Shikamaru’s hips buck, and he melts as she nips the dips of his pelvis. Nearly hard enough to draw blood, in quick succession that sends bursts of pleasure and pain to the small of his back. Sakura manhandles his pants until they bunch around his knees. And then, he’s once more acutely aware of her _teeth_. 

Finally, grasping what little control of the situation he can he huffs. Cocks his eyebrow in false bravado: like he could break out of her hold if he wanted to. In truth he’s trembling. A few of his past girlfriends and several Konaha citizens can speak to how... he likes control in bed. A well kept secret, one he isn’t interested in airing. It’s easier to be known as the lazy guy then the sexually promiscuous one. The rows of crooked razor sharp teeth— that’s, well, “You’re not going to chomp my dick off are you Sakura?” 

That predatory grin reveals a larger margin of teeth and... and when has he become so fixated on pearly whites? Lips, breasts, ass— makes sense. But this, this is new. 

The Inuzuka’s canines never inspired the raging hard on he’s sporting right now. 

“Issa chew move not the battlefield.” 

He doesn’t understand Kiri vernacular but the uncertainty sends a spike of hot that stiffens his dick. and she. She caresses it with the slip of her tongue and salavia as her nails dig into his sides. The pinpricks of pain send tingles to that sensitive spot on his back and it’s as if he swells out of existence. He resists against her hold, excitement clouds around his dick and he watches and struggles and her eyes are wicked and her sunglass red dilutes the color of her eyes but he’s entranced by the wicked glint, a trail of saliva connects from the wet cave of her mouth and his dick and Shikamaru almost feels dizzy. Sakura grins. And the grip around his wrists are bordering on painful when she tells him, “You’re gonna cum for me Nara.” 

And, 

he holds out. For a bit. Except, not long because the tip of his dick hits the back of her throat and she hums, bobbing up and down. Deepthroats him once more and then her movement is all tongue and slicked palm and twists. Her palms are calloused and catches against the soft skin of his member, the friction does wonders and it’s too hot to bear another second but he wants he wants it, wants her to make him cum— and, it’s an explosion. Fleeting and regretful because it’s not fair how it doesn’t last long enough. 

His vision splits, wobbles on an axis and it takes him a moment to arrive back on his makeshift cot with Sakura. 

Shikamaru is grateful. By extension he’s sort of pissed about it too. Control. He likes to systematically strip his partners and turn them inside out, likes the feeling of being their salvation. Somehow she did that to him. It’s odd to be on the receiving end. He gazes down at the devious woman who has pillowed her head on one his thighs (fingers doodling? in the mess of cum staining his stomach), and he’s equal parts grateful and annoyed, if only out of habit. 

“I prefer Shikamaru.”

Sakura raises an eyebrow, shifts so that she’s leaning more on her elbow than his thigh. “Is that right, Commander?” 

He notes the bruises blooming like bracelets around his wrists. He rubs at them, and she watches. Her lack of remorse is. Well. Different. Shikamaru nods. And leans down to kiss the lush lips that have seared into his skin. She freezes, and Shikamaru gently pushes his tongue through her unresponsive lips. Sakura’s eyes widen. He draws back, savors the speed in which she realizes her mistake. 

Shikamaru drops the hand sign though she remains still. “See I like a girl who takes initiative. But if we’re going to fuck, you’re going to call me my given name.” He loosens the jutsu enough so Sakura has minimal mobility. 

“Fuck me and we’ll find out if your name is worth remembering.” 

He carefully removes the red shades, sets them far enough away so they won’t get trampled. Her vivid green eyes are bits of emerald and a kaleidoscope of emotion. He kisses the area between her jumpsuit and neck, tugs down her zipper. “Mm, yeah but enjoy this first,” and with his dominant hand he makes circles and zigzags across her crotch. The hitch of her breath is enough to send post pleasure through him, and Shikamaru teases her clit until she near whimpering. Sakura mashes her lips together, brow furrowing, and her expression is one of begrudged pleasure— woman like her, she likes it fast paced. can tell by the way she jerked him around (no complaints there) but. She’s making an effort not to come undone. He leans close, “Hmm, you like that Sakura? You want me to...” He slides his hand the full length of from clit to opening. Her breath titters, caught between silence and drawn out pleasure. 

“What’s my name?” 

He sets a consistent rhythm and if the color rushing to her cheeks means anything he knows she’s close. Her eyes close and, “Shi~ _Shi_ ,” Sakura’s eyes clench shut.

 

“Shit!” She draws it out, it’s low and climbs up into a different pitch, whimper like. It stirs something inside Shikamaru and he’s never heard a swear so provoking. But it’s not his name. She peeks at him from hooded eyes, licks her lips. The bob of her throat is what undoes him. “Oh, Sakura,” and when he takes her, the shadows latching her loosen, and the two are a gaggle of limbs and brains battling for dominance. 

 

 

It’s safe to say she doesn’t call him by his name that night. But he does get to learn what what a sexually sated Mist nin looks like. He’s aquatinted and we’ll versed in the gasps he can draw out of her. The moans that she tears out of him, narrow eyed and flushed. Shikamaru promises himself one day she will say his name. She smiles. “Only if we survive this war.” He brushes back her bangs plastering to her cheeks and yes, it’s a promise. 

 

 

 

 

 

They survive the war.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You wake at dusk
> 
> Uhhh. I don’t usually write PWPs so be kind lmao. Also this another one shot placed in the War but totally different. Tell me your guy’s thoughts. Oh and Sakura’s outfit is a mix of the main character from Kill Bill’s (1) but instead of yellow and black it’s red and white, and Ryuko’s red outfit that she has to wear when her Goku thing in unavailable... anyway see ya later byee.


	3. they’re always so empty (but not yours)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Sakura is civilian born and she will not stand for her teammate’s treatment of them. 
> 
> Also: Shikamaru stans her (shocker).

 

Inner preens, venom gurgling at the sides of her mouth like a rabid dog.

She’s chakra deep in seven shinobi’s hippocampus’, finely plucking the meat of their memories. If she chooses to stutter they’ll be brain dead in less than a second, lost in the past between their ears. Sakura isn’t interested in vegetables. She’s far more intrigued by Ino and Shikamaru. On one hand she should stay back— orders are orders, on the other? Hokage-sama should have known better than assigning her to this mission. 

“Sakura,” Chōji warns, noticing her attention wander. Inner cocks her head, bangs blanketing her vision. Sakura more or less agrees. Before he can further address the issue she releases the shinobi. Sakura plants Chōji’s general location in the forefront of their recollection, nudges them forward. She doesn’t stick around to see them spring into action.

By all accounts Ino and Shikamaru have Sasuke under control. He’s bound in shadows motor control a dream of tomorrow, Ino kneeling hands bent in her family’s jutsu. A look of contempt is stamped across his face. Frozen like that there is no way Ino will miss. Ino wouldn’t fudge up a shot like that, but Sakura isn’t so convinced they’ll succeed even if she hits him dead on.

Admittingly she helps. Wriggling a strand of chakra into Ino’s amygdala she causes it to flare. Ino ‘sees’ a flash of pin wheel red, and with a knee jerk reaction the connection she was building between Sasuke and herself is severed. Immediately going for her kunai, Ino’s eyes skitter to and fro, on the defensive. “Go and help Chōji,” Inner says. It’s not a suggestion. For a moment Ino’s mouth twitches, jerks open with blatant refusal, before flattening into a determined line. Ino nods before shunshinning away.

“What the hell! You shouldn’t have done that,” Shikamaru yelps. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, runs down the curve of his face. She can see him eyeing her wildly but Shikamaru isn’t exactly in a position to reprimand her. 

“You’re here.” 

Shikamaru and Sakura’s attention is drawn back to Sasuke. His expression of boredom is tilted. He speaks with disinterest, as if noting something as mundane as a change in weather. Sunlight spills across his features and twists, gathers like a physical weight. This is familiar in its own right. 

Sakura meets his eyes. Condescension makes them shine like two wet stones. She recalls mistaking that gleam for fondness. A sliver of endearment. She had thought... Inner growls, how misplaced, clenches her fists. “Sasuke.” Sakura acknowledges.

“You can finish this reunion in Konoha, c’mon,” Shikamaru scolds. His intrusion is enough to break the tension. “Let him go Shikamaru,” she doesn’t force him to. It would be suicidal at this point, a terrible idea considering he’s the only thing keeping Sasuke immobile. No, Shikamaru has to be somewhat on board. He heaves a sigh. “Now is not the time—“ 

“Pathetic,” Sasuke spits. “You never fail to disappoint me. Even now you can’t bear to harm me. _Sa_ - _ku_ - _ra_ how... annoying.” 

Inner clicks her jaw shut. She doesn’t want to but if Shikamaru doesn’t release him now, well, Ino and Chōji will not be happy. It doesn’t take a genuis to sense what’s going on. “What a drag.” Shikamaru concedes. He rubs at the crown of his forehead, skin catching at his fingertips. 

The second Shikamaru’s shadow retracts, Sasuke’s eyes go red. A ragged breath catches in her throat. Time seems to stand still. What a lovely shade, Inner cackles. Mirroring Shikamaru’s previous movement, Sasuke’s fingers catch at his brow and below his eye. Blood and fluid explode forth. Now Sasuke  cradles his eye cavity, goey liquid strings dangle from his palm. Inner and Sakura exhale. With his other hand Sasuke claws at his face, raving, before cupping his other empty eye socket. not enough. She wants to burst his cells one by one. 

Instead she settles on laughing. Or maybe she’s screaming, she knows Sasuke is.

 

”What did you do what did you do?” Ino shouts. She tugs at Sakura’s hair, grabs at her chin. Chōji’s stomach loudly revolts at the sight, at the crusting red and clear fluid staining Sasuke’s eyes and Sakura is hyperfixed on the growing green flush of Chōji’s skin. Ask Sasuke, Sakura thinks to herself. Inner answers. “Something I should have done years ago.”

 

 

He makes it a point to visit her. Maybe to build trust or because Team Ten has always belonged to the bowels of T&I first and foremost. Whatever the reason, Sakura doesn’t mind. Shikamaru’s mug is a welcome sight even if he’s just here to psycho analyze her. These meetings are the highlight of her days, or what she assumes is days. Being so far underground who knows what time is it when he comes to visit.

Inner waves her hand, fingers wriggling. Links of chakra seal work wraps around her wrist and forearm like a stretched out spiral. “Hey.”

Shikamaru blinks owlishly at her. She wonders how much trouble he got for not being able to stop her. Sakura wonders if the Godaime managed to control the Council enough so that Shikamaru doesn’t catch so much heat. Inner snorts, tilts her head, he has his clan. Not to mention the Akimichi and Yamanaka at his back. Of course he’s going to be okay. Sakura can’t say the same. Inner shushes her thoughts. Pay attention to the visitor, who knows how long he’ll get to stay.

“How are you?” Shikamaru asks. 

“Brains aren’t scrambled so I guess I’m okay. Remind me to thank Ino,” she offers. Because, how is she? Sakura doesn’t know. Inner doesn’t ask questions like that, with answers that are written into the stitches of a situation. Better to play nice. Inner’s right, who knows how long Shikamaru will want to stick around. He and her both know Ino isn’t the one standing between Sakura and a complete mind invasion. If the Hokage ordered Inoichi-san or any other high ranking Yamanaka, they’d have no choice but to comply. Inner guesses what is halting the mind tossing is a combination of the Godaime, her sensei, Ishii-shishou, and the civilian council. Beyond that the Shinobi community is vying for her guts.

Sometimes Sakura wonders, what has she done to curry favor with the Fifth? What keeps Konoha’s leader from giving the Council and T&I the ‘a-okay?’ Beyond being Naruto and Sasuke’s teammate and reporting for missions, she and the Hokage has had limited interactions. Sakura has learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. That, and maybe the Hokage has always wanted to do what Sakura has done: tear her fucking teammate apart. 

Shikamaru makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. Sakura returns to the conversation, “Hinata’s operation was unsuccessful.”

A gross little surge of triumph scales from naval to heart. Inner mouthes the words around a vat of acidic pleasure. “Tell her I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll figure it out.” It’s entertaining how polite Inner can be, Sakura can hardly contain her glee. Hinata is quite the medic. Following the Legendary Sannin’s footsteps how can she not be? All of her accomplishments come from second hand— her clan doesn’t want Hinata seeing Sakura, not after what she has done, and who’s to say she wouldn’t do it to their heir— but Hinata is always sure to have Shikamaru relay her news. So, it’s not Hinata’s failure that tickles Sakura. Rather, the fact Sasuke’s immune system won’t accept inferior genetics. Oh, and she busted all the sacs of H2O and vessels and nerves and and and, so well. 

Hinata’s a doll, a real bleeding heart but Sakura’s work won’t be easily undone. 

“Naruto comes back soon.”

Ironically this is less... exciting. “He’ll kill me,” Sakura says before Inner can think of a proper response. 

Shikamaru frowns. “I doubt that. Jiraiya already explained the situation—“

Sakura pushes herself into a more attentive position. Inner goes achingly quite. This is Naruto Uzumaki they’re talking about. No amount of preparation is going to keep him from acting. No one changes that much. (You did.) “Sure. He _knows_ , but when he takes one look at Sasuke,” Sakura whistles. “I’m dead meat.” She’s not scared. Maybe she’ll get to say goodbye to Naruto this time. Last time he left without one. 

“No one is going to let Naruto murder you.” Shikamaru looks nonplussed. He tilts back in his chair, glares up at the ceiling. Slowly he lets out a slow hiss of frustration. “I wish you were more remorseful. Or,” his glare transfers to her. “At least pretended to be. You know how hard it is to advocate for you like this?” He motions towards her barren cell. At her.

“Is Sasuke sorry for all of the dead civilians? Orochimaru’s test subjects? What about my family— they’re dead too, should I go on a rampage?” She knows it’s not fair. The Hokage told her about the slaughter. The Uchiha massacre. A tale of two brothers. In hindsight it’s no wonder Sasuke is fucked up as he is. It is unfair. But so is this: only the powerful can afford tragedy. The odes and swear of revenge that ends in body deep collateral.

He can murder intentional or unintentionally, as many people as he wants and it won’t matter. As the last Uchiha he is afforded atrocities equal or greater to his own, because his eyes are special. Konoha needs them. Needs the advantage they give. So, what’s the use of crying over dead civilians when they have it in their possession?

Let’s see how forgiving they are, she had thought. Inner grinned. 

Shikamaru clasps the doorknob. Looks over his shoulder, frowning. “Keep talking like that and you’ll never get out of here.” He leaves. Inner thinks it’s silly of him to hope that Sakura ever will. It comes down to this: she’s not sorry and she never will be. The only thing she regrets is the closed doors. At least, Sakura hums, he didn’t smile. She hates when the Konoha Nine smile. They’re always so empty. But by now she should be used to closed doors and empty smiles.

 

 

“They want your eyes.”

Shikamaru doesn’t clarify. He wrings his hands together, grasps at air. 

Sakura sighs. Immediately Shikamaru stills, a dark aura overwhelming his posture. Inner is sort of pleased. He visits the most often. Kind of cute how concerned he is. “Oh.” 

“That’s all?”

He’s outraged. At the Council. At the Hokage for agreeing. For a great deal of things, Sakura knows, but as of now he’s most furious at her. “They’re not special enough. It’s going to be a dead end.” Despite her nonchalant response, her fingers twitch. She imagines jabbing her middle and index fingers in her eyes. Scraping them until blood and white collect under her fingernails. She wonders how deep her fingers will reach. Mid knuckle? Or her actual knuckles? 

Sakura isn’t bold enough to try. Inner wouldn’t even let her get that far, not infront of Shikamaru at least. He’s already witnessed The Eye Thing— no need for another scene.

“I hope the Godaime does the operation, Hinata will have a fit if she realizes they’re mine.” 

This is what breaks the camels back. “What’s wrong with you! I’m trying to help you and you insist on acting crazy.” 

Sakura shrugs. “I’m not that important, do you think I haven’t thought of this before?” Sakura leans back into the wall. “Don’t worry about me. Figure out to cast a genjutsu over them before Naruto gets here— if he’d murder me for blinding Sasuke think about what he’ll do when he sees Sasuke with mine.” If they last that long, Inner giggles. 

 

 

She hates a lot of things but Shikamaru isn’t one of them. “Whatever it is go ahead.” She doesn’t say she trusts him. No, he already knows that— even though this all could be a mind game. He’s T&I, maybe they’re going for the long haul. Sakura chooses not to care. Even if he is, well, it doesn’t matter. She’s locked up and she isn’t ever going to fork over the Water Technique, so she minds well enjoy the company while it lasts. Hell of a lot more fun than Ibiki’s. 

“You might hate the alternative,” Shikamaru repeats. 

Inner hums. Sakura taps her chin, dog ears her book. “I’m listening.”

 

 

 

She hates it because it works.

 

 

For the first time in years Team Seven reunites. They’re wheeled into an empty, chakra sealed room. Sakura guesses this is the Godaime’s attempt at therapy. What no one dares factor in is all three members are power houses, without chakra they’re formidable at hand to hand. 

Naruto slaps Sasuke so hard that Sakura thinks that his new eyeballs are going to pop out. Sasuke nearly snaps Naruto’s wrist. Sakura makes the mistake of laughing. Which, incidentally is what let’s Naruto get the jump on her. Bent over, her remaining eye squeezed shut is just the opening Naruto needs.

He has a mean right hook. 

Their drugged reactions do not take the bite out of the blows. 

Sakura spits out a glob of blood, iron coats her teeth. Without missing a beat Sakura elbows Naruto’s chin, he stumbles back. He manages to slow his fall by dragging his hands across the wall. 

And then she is face to face with Sasuke. Sometime between getting knocked by Naruto and returning in kind, he has unwound the bandages wrapped across his face. Bright. They’re both bright. It’s hard to describe, as both are intense but on wildly different ends of the spectrum. The right eye is sapphire held up to the sun, clear and cloudless as a spring day. The left eye... is thicker, like foliage and crushed emerald. It’s jarring to look at.

The only black and red that remains is the inflammation and bruising around the eye sockets. Sasuke heavily squints but none the less makes eye contact with her eye.

In a fluid movement, Sasuke sucker punches her. It’s a good thing you’re not supposed to eat before surgery because the force nearly causes her to heave. As she’s bent over, Inner trips him, yanks his feet out from under the arrogant strut he began to reach Naruto. He falls flat on his face. Sakura is tempted to tail on him— the operation wasn’t supposed to work— but Naruto laughs. And the she laughs. and Sasuke looks murderous as he picks himself off the floor, with those gem encrusted eyes, but he smiles. it’s enough.

 

 

 

“I look like a pirate.”

Shikamaru cocks an eyebrow at her. “You look like Kakashi.” 

“That’s worse,” Sakura groans. She wants to rub at her face in irritation before she realizes their hands are laced together. Sakura wants a better look but he’s holding her left hand, it’d be kind of obvious if she tried to take a peak. When did they start doing that?

After she got released from the hospital? When it became clear that Naruto and (to his credit) Sasuke wouldn’t let her go back to T&I? Holding hands— isn’t the weirdest but she didn’t see this coming. Inner titters, yeah with the eye patch she really didn’t see it coming— but that was besides the point. They’re hanging out in her apartment watching a movie and it’s only now occurring to her.

“Sakura?” 

Her silence has not gone unnoticed. 

“Why are you here?” 

He’s half way asking what she means before his eyes narrow in understanding. Shikamaru loosens his hold enough for her to pry her hand away. “You think I was working for them.” The tone of his voice is flat. She doesn’t respond and he tries again with the same even delivery, carefully unemotional. “I’m playing you— because I really need an S-rank justu.” And, ok the way he states it makes it sound incredulous. Why would Shikamaru want her water technique? He has neither the control or affinity, he can’t be in it for the money, his clan is well off. So why can’t she shake this feeling? 

“Tell me why you’re here.” There’s just enough chakra that refusing isn’t an option. Inner winces but Sakura doesn’t stutter.

Shikamaru doesn’t resist. “I want to spend time with you.” His brown eyes are liquid, they are the great pine of Konoha. They look... disappointed? Hurt? Sakura can’t tell. She cuts the flow of chakra, looks away. They sit like that for awhile. 

He speaks first because Shikamaru is infinitely more brave than her apparently. “What a drag.” Except it’s not as rough as it sounds. “I think we both need some time. I’ll be around,” he says. He waits until she looks at him and agrees. 

Shikamaru gives her a terse smile before closing the door. She’s tempted to chase him down and ask.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Closed doors and empty smiles
> 
> Whores better drop a comment lol. Basically in this AU Sakura never becomes Tsunade’s apprentice, she seeks out a genjutsu master names Ishii. This woman teaches her how to compel people through the use of genjutsu. Sakura also works on perfecting her water nature— which leads her to creating bad ass Justus that can burst people lmao. 
> 
> Um ig this wasn’t like super romantic but it’s left on a down/hopeful note. Anything can happen from here. Hope you guys enjoyed.


	4. .... let it be known everything i’m not is what made me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning— unhealthy coping mechanisms that involve self harm.

 

Her nails are blunt, makes the skin of her thighs flush ruddy pink as hives rise. The sensation doesn’t go away. It hurts, a discomfort that feeds the itch and she scratches harder. She’s sure she should stop, she’s never going to reach the end.

”Ugly, you in there?”

The flesh around her fingernails pucker like dimples and Sakura wants to scrape trails of broken sunset, bleeding oranges and purples. “I’m taking a shit.” Her voice is a croak, half embarrassed and half exhilarated. “Give me a minute.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other side of the door. Sai shifts, floor boards creaking, an unspoken acquiesce. As he walks away Sakura stares at the raised pink flesh of her thighs, far more agitated than damaged. It itches. Her whole body does like she rolled in grass and every inch is tacky and vulnerable to the unknown. She imagines tearing through superficial and deep integumentary layers. Would the itching stop? 

No. It never stopped, not when she scratched not when she punched things. Knuckles splitting, swelling into something unrecognizable. The itch was bone deep even when she couldn’t form a fist. The itch burrowed past her throat and sat like a parasite. Sometimes it felt like she could pinpoint the hurt better that way. Sakura wasn’t crying about her dad, or her biological father, or her mom, or Sasuke leaving, or Naruto not saying goodbye, or Kakashi _no_ _longer_ _your_ _sensei_. Only the grotesque scrapes and wood splintering, how the itch subsided a bit as she gently tongued the wounds, as if a little spit could fix this:

No one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wanted her no one wants her no one no one no one NO ONE WANTED HER no one NO ONE WANTED HER NO ONE WANTED HER 

no one wants HER

 

 

 

(sakura rests her lips against the raw busted skin, as if her own gentleness would change the grooves of a lifetime of abandonment.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sakura takes initiative, head held high, skirts flowing around her knees, and adjusts her boob tube before rejoining team dinner.

Kakashi asks them not to call him sensei.

”But you’ll always be our sensei, Kakashi-sensei.” She says it with a sweet smile, all genuine, and knows he hates it. “Yeah!” Naruto shouts. “You’ll never be just some guy, believe it!” Sasuke doesn’t comment. They already know how much he didn’t consider Kakashi his sensei. In short, Kakashi’s protests are lost somewhere between her spite, Naruto’s obliviousness, and Sasuke’s indifference. Sai carefully considers his teammates before returning to his conversation with Yamato. Sakura wonders if he can sense the tension, the gaping destruction and ugliness that hangs at the back of their throats. It isn’t doom, they’ve already lived through the worst. Sakura’s living it. 

“It’s not your fault.” Naruto nods at his stump, hidden by his waving shirt sleeve. Sakura blinks. The dinner table is achingly quiet. She takes a sip of water to buy more time to process the change of topic. Sasuke lazily peers at her but the sudden interest is poorly concealed concern. Sai discreetly taps her knee. ‘You were staring.’ 

Oh. 

“One handed jutsus are way more effective anyway! And I’m way stronger than this bastard too.” 

She can’t. Of course it isn’t her fault. Who told them to fight each other? She stepped in. they would have killed each other and it cost her everything and they think she feels sorry for them? The ugliness rolls across her tongue and settles at the back of her teeth. She licks them in anticipation but holds on to civility by a thread. She can’t attack the future Hokage infront of the current Hokage. and Sasuke would choose Naruto over her any day. Sai— Sai would have her back, she knows he would, but Yamato is a different story. So she settles back into her seat and seethes. The itching is tightly woven nettles encircling her neck and wrists. _Know_ _your_ _place_.

 

The door is left unlocked for her. Shikamaru hazardly sprawls across her couch, occasionally flicking through the channels. His face seems to glow in the low light. He’s a pretty picture even as he purposely doesn’t look at her. She tries to call his name but her throat is too raw, and it comes out more like a whine. Shikamaru turns. She sees the dark bags beneath his eyes and the beaten expression of a drowning man. Sakura wonders if she looks the same. “What do you want,” she manages, angry, and her tone is enough to make Shikamaru smile. “Y’mean what do I need?”

 

his tears stain her top, puddles between her non-existent breasts. She rocks into him, chases the finish even as she wants to flinch away. His flesh is hot and slick, her front is warm because of him but her back is cold. There is a lightness building between her thighs, she rides it the anguish out into the open: wet pants that may be mistaken as sobs. Shikamaru isn’t too far behind her, dark broken things stolen from his chest, and she pulls him closer. Sakura nearly abandons the notion, wants to recoil, squirm and deny herself this, this intimacy, but Shikamaru’s fingers curl around the back of her neck a not so gentle reminder and... and she can’t forgive him for it, not really. it’s a good thing Shikamaru never asked for forgiveness.

 

“I hate them.”

Shikamaru pauses, a coil of pink locks tangled around his fingers. He twists until the baby hairs cause the back of his knuckles to brush her forehead. “You love them too.” She likes and loathes his answer all in one breath. His honesty stings and smartens like the truth. And she trusts Shikamaru enough not to lie. 

She loves and hates Naruto and Sasuke. She loved and loved and it doesn’t stop and they’re playing house— (the chidori sears into her shield, crackling, and the rasenegan bursts across the middle. smells like burning flesh and... their arms) and she’s too busy with them and Tsunade is dead and oh Kami not her please no...  fingers twitch across her thighs, before he intercepts them. Shikamaru carefully kissed the offending digits. The warm brown of his eyes are nearly hypnotizing. Sakura shouldn’t feel guilt. This is her body. She’ll do as she pleases— if they want her to keep healing, to function— they’ll, he’ll let her find the end. Sakura could spike a shard of her chakra shield, pierce the tips of his fingers, straight through her palm, pin to his lips like butterfly wings beneath a pane of glass. Instead curls her fist, knuckles resting against his mouth and nose.

his eyes rest on her like a man with perspective like a man who keeps his cool a man who has never known abandonment. 

Sakura can’t bring herself to turn away.

Only presses closer, tongues the impression of smoke when she wants to gag. They kiss and it only reminds her of soggy cigarettes that piled up between the alleyway between her apartment and Kari-san’s business. “That’s seven months of my life,” her mom would laugh as she flicked a butt on the ground. And it was sad that a little bit of relief was killing her mom slowly. She feared and was repulsed in equal measures, secretly thinking about painfully mundane of a choice. Not all die on the battlefield. No, some quietly waste away trying to reach ends meet. One cigarette at a time. In the end it didn’t even matter. (of everyone Pein revived the civilians hardly made the cut) some didn’t come back.

her mom didn’t. 

 

Shikamaru leans forward, rests his forehead against her’s, eyes slanting shut.

 

When he’s hacking up his lungs in a few years, Sakura wonders if he’ll feel that much closer to Asuma-sensei. She never felt all that close to her shishou at the end of a bottle. No she pulls herself apart, picks skin and blood from beneath her nails and smiles. Sakura thinks of all the ways they kill themselves just to get by. a carton a day isn’t the worst way to go, not by far.

Her grief bunches at the crinkles of her eyes, releases at the mouth curling into a smile, a snarl, a halfhearted smirk. Little by little. Flitting between emotion to the next it’s easy to forget, easy like breathing, forgive forgive forgive. Repeats it like a mantra as if one day she’ll ever look at the world or the people in it the same.

For all his boasts, his unmatched calculations, Shikamaru is a cry baby. He doesn’t cry easily as he did in youth— it takes days to wear him down, but he cries. To his mom, to his team, to her. There isn’t a block of resentment that bleeds into his mourning process. He functions, he functions, he _functions_ and how unfair is that, Shikamaru expresses. Carries that guilt in the paperwork he files, in the comfort he provides, in the bittersweet babysitting he does for Kurenai— why am I okay? (why am I alive) 

she doesn’t have much to offer, much less answers to survivors guilt. 

he doesn’t ask for forgiveness and it isn’t her place to give it. she finds it comforting that as long as they have to suffer they have one another. she’s wrong for him. she must be. he needs to heal and she’s dragging shika down. needs to let him go. sakura is ashamed of the thing she has become. this docile sickly thing: a woman who endangers the very person she loves. it’s enough to feel wanted. though everything she touches turns to ash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I was going through a lot of shit (mostly abandonment issues 💀) but uhh, I tried. Uh this wasn’t very shippy but bad shit be happening outside of all that. RIP. I’ll probably be back to retouch everything but as of now I honestly can’t find it in me to find a proper resolution.


End file.
